


Twist It Round

by queeniegalore



Series: Safeword Verse [5]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: BDSM, Belting, Bondage, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, felt a little off-balance, like everything had just tilted, like Ray and Walt were doing the tilting. It felt like they were leading him up to something, getting ready to spring a trap. </p>
<p>Starts out Ray/Walt and ends up Brad/Ray/Walt. High on the bondage and spanking, etc. Originally commentfic, but they get longer as they go on. </p>
<p>(This is definitely the pay-off fic in this verse, heh)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist It Round

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, not true, no disrespect intended

Ray took the armchair after dinner the next night, sprawling sideways on it with his knees hooked over one side. Brad hesitated for a second, then dropped onto Ray's usual space on the couch, Walt slumping down next to him and immediately stretching out, head back and eyes closed.  
  
“I am _so_ wrecked,” Walt said. “So, so, completely wrecked.”  
  
“You can't be wrecked,” Ray protested. “It's Friday night.”  
  
“Yeah, but we're spending Friday night on the couch with your terrible DVD collection, dude. I can be as wrecked as I want, we're like an old married couple.”  
  
Ray shrugged. “We've got Brad,” he replied cheerfully, like Brad was some kind of gaming device, provided for their enjoyment.  
  
Walt opened his eyes and smiled. “Well, obviously we've got Brad,” he said. “Brad. How are you going to save me and Ray from old-married-coupledom?”  
  
“What am I, a relationship counsellor?” Brad asked. “You know how I feel about marriage, kids. My solution to everything is going to be Australian hookers.”  
  
Despite the banter, Brad felt a little on edge. The night was going…weirdly. He'd had to concentrate harder than usual on keeping his eyes forward, not letting them go wandering, not giving in. Walt had showered when they got home, changing into a faded blue Henley with the sleeves pushed way up his forearms, nothing hidden for a change. Brad didn't know the reason for the shift in MO, but Walt had a lot on display, bruises and scratch marks and welts, standing out against his tan. They didn't cover every inch of skin, they weren't vicious, but they were _there_. Glaringly, obviously there. Sitting next to him, seeing the marred brown skin of Walt's arms so close he could touch, Brad wondered what other bruises he'd find if he -  
  
“Walt, Colbert thinks we need to spice up our sex life.” Ray interrupted Brad's thoughts, sounding amused. Brad tried not to pay attention as Walt fidgeted with his sleeves, pulling them down and pushing them back up again.  
  
“I don’t think Brad ever thinks about our sex life, Ray.”  
  
Brad glanced over at Ray, who was grinning at him.  
  
“You would be surprised at what Brad thinks about, Walt,” Ray said.  
  
Brad sighed. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, felt a little off-balance, like everything had just tilted, like Ray and Walt were doing the tilting. It felt like they were leading him up to something, getting ready to spring a trap. _Disconcerting_ didn’t really cover it.  
  
“I am, in fact, still in the room,” he pointed out, trying to find his footing.  
  
Ray was still grinning. “Yeah, dude, we know. You’re kind of obvious.”  
  
Brad rolled his eyes. “Are you going to talk shit all night or are you going to put on another sub-par action film?”  
  
Ray’s mouth dropped open. “Brad. _Brad_. You did not just call Predator sub-par. Do I…are we even friends?” He clutched at his chest like he’d been physically wounded.  
  
Walt punched Brad in the shoulder. “Now look, Brad. You’ve gone and gotten him all excited.”  
  
Brad couldn’t stop himself then, Walt’s touch breaking something inside him. It was like he’d hit a wall as far as his self-control went, was powerless against the urge to run his gaze over Walt’s arms, drink them in, so close that yeah, he could just reach out and grab hold.  
  
And this time, Walt noticed him looking. He drew in a long, shaky breath, went still, and Brad glanced at his face, his pink cheeks and red, bitten mouth.  
  
“Brad,” he said, very quietly. He made to pull his sleeves back down, but stopped, instead letting his hands fall to his knees, fingers loose, keeping them there as he left himself open to Brad’s scrutiny. They both froze, the moment stretching out between them until…  
  
“Well, I think we could all use some tequila!”  
  
Ray shattered the moment, jumping out of his seat and slapping Brad on the back as he went past them into the kitchen. “Come on, gimme a hand.”  
  
Brad nodded dumbly, and slowly stood up to follow, looking away from Walt. He wasn’t imagining it; it wasn’t just going on inside his head anymore. They really were tilting the world around him, changing everything, and he had _no idea_ how to deal with it.  
  
Ray was spinning the tequila bottle in his hands when Brad joined him in the kitchen.  
  
“Ray. What the fuck are you doing?”  
  
Ray looked at him innocently. “Shots?”  
  
Brad frowned, frustrated. He knew he was crossing all sorts of lines, stepping into something that wasn’t his, but he felt like…they were inviting him. Maybe. Hopefully?  
  
“Look, I know…I know what you and Walt do…”He trailed off awkwardly, not sure what he was trying to get at.  
  
Smirking, Ray uncapped the tequila, took a drink straight from the bottle. “Yeah, dude, I know you know. I know you know ‘cause you can’t keep your fuckin’ eyes off him.”  
  
Brad flushed, caught. “I’m sorry,” he started. “I-”  
  
Ray shrugged, waved him off. “Don’t be. I mean, if I was upset about it I’d be punching you in the face, not feeding you tequila and encouraging you.”  
  
Brad felt like he was going to explode. He grabbed Ray’s arm, pulled him closer. “ _Ray_ ,” he said, low and insistent. “What are we doing?”  
  
Ray looked down pointedly at his arm. “You can save that for Walt, Brad.”  
  
“Jesus.” Brad closed his eyes, took a deep breath, but Ray wasn’t done talking.  
  
“I’m not an idiot. That dominatrix chick you go to, she switches, right? Yeah. I know what you like. I know _you_.” He studied Brad carefully, nodded. “I know you.”  
  
Brad bit his lip. “You mean this, don’t you?”  
  
“This can go exactly as far as you want.”  
  
The words hung in the air between them. Brad almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, almost couldn’t dare to believe it was real. “You wanna hold onto him, fine,” Ray continued in a low voice.“You wanna bruise him up some? Fine. You want more than that, shit, it’s all negotiable, Brad.”  
  
“And Walt?” Brad asked stupidly, heart racing. “He’s into this?”  
  
Ray looked at him like he really was an idiot. “Come on. If he wasn’t, you think we’d be having this conversation? He’s into it like fuckin’ crazy.”  
  
The thought – the very idea – that Walt wanted Brad to do the things Ray normally did to him made Brad almost dizzy. He was _so_ in. He should have known, from the second Ray saw him looking the night before, shit, maybe even before that. He should have known he wasn’t going to escape this.  
  
But one thing was bothering him.  
  
“How did you know, Ray?” Ray cocked his head. “How did you know _I’m_ into it?”  
  
Ray actually laughed at him. “You serious, Brad?” He leaned in close. “The walls in this place are thin as shit, right? I will give you fifty bucks if you can look at me and honestly say that you didn’t jerk one out listening to me and Walt in bed last night.”  
  
Brad was silent for a second, holding Ray’s gaze. And then he made the inevitable choice, leaning down and almost closing the gap between them completely.  
  
“Of fucking course I did.”  
  
Ray nodded, and Brad thought he maybe saw a slight hint of relief in his eyes. “Yeah. You’re not subtle, Iceman.” He broke away to pick up some shot glasses, and gestured at the door. “Come on. If we don’t hurry up he’ll fall asleep on us.”  
  
“Wait.” Brad held out a hand. His mouth was dry, but he had to ask. “What – what does he like?”  
  
“Pain,” Ray replied simply, and Brad felt a flash of lust so intense he got light-headed. “He really likes to be hurt,” Ray went on, eyes dark. “He likes to be held down or tied up, treated rough. I haven’t reached the point where he’s even thought about using the safeword and, well, you’ve seen his bruises.” He smiled a little. “There’s more under his clothes, Brad. You’re gonna love it.”  
  
Brad nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will."  
  
~  
  
Walt was on the couch right where they’d left him when they re-entered the living room, hands still on his knees and all. Even that, that simple detail, was such a turn on that Brad went weak at the knees, felt his dick twitch in his pants.  
  
Ray sat back down on the armchair and started pouring out shots, leaving Brad to slowly sink back down onto the couch next to Walt, who looked at him expectantly.  
  
Brad just nodded, not trusting himself to actually say anything, and Walt sighed.  
  
“Yeah, Brad,” he whispered, and it was permission, acceptance. He licked his lips, and Brad followed the movement, tense, so ready to get things started but not wanting to be the one to make the first move.  
  
“Brad, I think Walt could do with some tequila,” Ray suggested, coming to his rescue. Walt started to reach for the shots on the table, but almost without thinking Brad finally gave in and grabbed his wrist, holding his arm still.  
  
From the look on Walt’s face, he was about three seconds away from coming in his pants.  
  
“Let me,” Brad said roughly, and with his other hand he picked up a shot. He felt Ray’s gaze on him as he held Walt’s arm down, pressing it into his thigh, and brought the tequila up to his lips. Walt opened his mouth for him, tipped his head back, and Brad felt another wave of lust roll through him as he poured the liquor down Walt’s throat.  
  
Walt swallowed, wincing a little at the burn. “Thanks,” he said, voice husky. “I needed that.  
  
“What else do you need?” Brad asked, and Walt twisted his wrist in Brad’s hand. Instinctively, Brad gripped tighter, stilling the movement, and Walt smiled.  
  
“That,” he said. “A lot more of that.”  
  
Ray got up then, came over to sit on the coffee table in front of them. He held out a shot to Brad, who took it gratefully.  
  
“Do we need to, uh…” He felt stupid with desire. He wanted to get past the formalities, wanted to take Walt’s shirt off, wanted Ray to show him all the places he hurt him, wanted to find some new places of his own, but he forced himself to get the words out. “Rules?”  
  
Ray rolled his eyes a little. “You military types and your rules,” he said fondly. He poured out another shot and fed it to Walt, spilling a little down his chin. “Oops,” he said, deadpan, and leaned in and licked it up, running his tongue along the edge of Walt’s jaw, up to his mouth. Brad squeezed harder, enough to hurt, digging his short nails in as their lips met and they kissed, open mouthed and wet, inches from his face.  
  
Ray broke away first, his eyes huge, leaving Walt to moan and sway forward slightly towards him. “Rules, huh. Okay. Walt? Is mine. I’m willing to share him with ya, Brad, but he’s _mine_.”  
  
Brad looked at Walt to see if he minded being treated like a possession, but his face was open, accepting. He was playing a role, Brad realised, they all were. It made things a little easier to cope with.  
  
“Yeah I know he’s yours.” He took Walt’s other hand in his grip, shifting them both so they were behind his back. “But Walt doesn’t mind if I borrow him, right?” He said this directly into Walt’s ear, watched his shiver and shift in his grasp.  
  
“Nah, Brad, I don’t mind,” he said, and dropped his head back against Brad’s shoulder, long blond lashes brushing his cheeks.  
  
At this, Ray laughed ruefully. “Shit. I’m so used to that being his safeword I’m conditioned to think I should stop…”  
  
“Don’t stop,” Walt demanded. Brad looked down, saw Ray had his hands on Walt’s hips, stroking his thumbs across the bare skin above his waistband.  
  
“Call me Colbert,” Brad suggested, and decided to push his luck just a little, see what happened. “Or Sergeant.”  
  
Ray shot him a look, but Walt, melting back against him, seemed to like it. “Sergeant,” he repeated. “Yeah, that works for me.”  
  
“Fuckin’ jarheads,” Ray said darkly. He leaned forward and nosed along Walt’s collarbone, along the open neck of his Henley. “Y’all are so fucked up.”  
  
“So you’re not fucked up now you’re a civilian, Ray?” Brad asked. He tugged at Walt, trying to manhandle him into position. The way Walt just pliantly moved wherever Brad wanted almost made him see fucking _stars_.  
  
“Oh, I think we’ve established that I’m plenty fucked up.” Ray seemed to sense what Brad wanted, like he always did, and stood up, shoving the coffee table back out of the way. “I mean, I’m letting a six four blond Viking god get all freaky with my boyfriend. Who the fuck _does_ that?”  
  
Walt gave Ray a look of such disarming sweetness that Brad felt his heart skip a beat. “You know I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
“You love it,” Brad added, and eased Walt off the couch and onto his knees, kneeling down behind him and bracketing him in the vee of his thighs. “Ray – sit back-”  
  
“Yeah, dude, I got it.” Ray sat back on the edge of the table. “Gimme his-”  
  
“Here.”  
  
They worked together perfectly, even in this, completely in sync. In their best moments words became a formality, they communicated with glances and gestures, the familiarity of years. Brad was relieved, maybe even comforted, by the fact that that hadn’t changed, something he didn’t have to worry about.  
  
Because this, pliant, easy Walt, with his pink cheeks and hooded eyes, on his knees and just waiting for whatever they wanted to do, was more than enough to fucking worry about.  
  
Brad stretched Walt’s arms out in front of him, placing his hands in Ray’s and pushing his head down into Ray’s lap. Ray took him tenderly, bending down to kiss his temple, the top of his head, even as his thumbs dug brutally into Walt’s forearms.  
  
“ _Sergeant_ ,” he said sarcastically. “He looks better without his clothes on.”  
  
“Hold your fucking horses.” But Brad was on the same page, already sliding his hands up Walt’s sides, taking his shirt with them, exposing acres of smooth, muscled skin, marred all over by bruises – most of which were probably just general wear and tear from his training, Brad figured. Most, but definitely not all.  
  
“Jesus, Ray, you really go to town, huh?”  
  
Walt was shivering, flinching as Brad brushed his fingers over his back, pushing back into the touch and then away, burying his face in Ray’s knee.  
  
“Walt, tell Sergeant Colbert how much you love it,” Ray said softly. “Tell him how you beg me not to stop.”  
  
Brad leaned over Walt’s back, covering him. “Yeah, Walt, tell me about that.”  
  
Walt twisted his head to the side, fat lips a breath away from Brad’s as he spoke. “I would really fucking love it if you got your belt off right now and started using it on me, Sergeant,” he said. “I’d love it even more if you let me suck my boyfriend’s dick while you did it.”  
  
Brad closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to the back of Walt’s neck. Above them Ray started to breathe hard, letting out a small “ _Fuck_.” With a Herculean effort, Brad pulled himself together.  
  
“You can suck Ray’s dick when I tell you can suck Ray’s dick,” he said. He sat back on his haunches and fumbled with the buckle of his belt. “Ray, get his shirt off.”  
  
“I _told_ you,” Ray muttered, wrenching Walt’s shirt over his head and tangling it around his arms. Brad slipped his belt from the loops, held it slackly in his hands.  
  
“Come on, come on,” Walt hissed, his whole body trembling. Ray pushed two fingers into his mouth, shutting him up, and nodded at Brad.  
  
“You know what to do, Sergeant.”  
  
Brad did.  
  
The first touch of leather against Walt’s skin made him jerk forward, pushing his hips into empty space. Brad hadn’t hit him hard, had barely touched him, just wanting to give them both a taste, but the anticipation had pushed Walt right up to the edge and now he was on a hair trigger. Brad had never seen someone so close to coming from just a little foreplay, it was fucking unreal.  
  
Ray scooted forward on the table so that Walt could rub his face over the bulge in his jeans, mouth at it. He ran a finger over the faint red mark Brad had left on Walt’s back. “Harder,” he said. “Let him feel it.”  
  
“Yeah.” Brad slapped the belt down again, putting some muscle into it. He was rewarded by a low groan from Walt, echoed by Ray, as he watched another, darker, mark appear. Brad had to push one hand against his dick, the need to _mark_ and _take_ and _fuck_ almost overwhelming him.  
  
“Walt,” he said roughly, hitting him again, and again, “Walt, tell me it’s good.”  
  
“ _So_ goddamned good,” Walt gasped. “Please, Sergeant – _Ray_ -”  
  
Ray took hold of Walt’s hair, tugging. “Tell us what you need,” he said. “Ask nicely.”  
  
Walt seemed incapable of speech, nuzzling his face into Ray's lap, his whole body trembling. Ray pulled his hair, stroked his face, touched his lips. "Walt, Walt, tell us or we'll stop," he warned. "I wanna hear you say it."  
  
"More," Walt finally whispered. Brad wasn't sure what more he had to give, but Ray seemed to understand.  
  
"Brad, turn the belt around."  
  
Brad looked down at his hands dumbly, at the belt in his fist. "What?"  
  
"The buckle," Ray said, and his voice was so low Brad wasn't sure if he'd heard him right. Walt was almost hyperventilating, his mouth had left a wet patch of Ray's jeans, his whole body was shaking.  
  
"Please, please," he said. "Oh, fuck, _please_."  
  
Very slowly, Brad changed his grip on the belt. He touched the buckle to the back of Walt's neck, ran it very gently down his spine, all the way down to the waistband of his pants. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do," he said.  
  
Ray was watching him. "I keep forgetting this is new to you, Colbert," he said. "We've spent so long working this shit out. Working out what he likes."  
  
"Is there anything he _doesn't_ like?" Brad asked. He grabbed Walt's waist, pulled back on it a little, angling him just right. With his hands still all tangled up in his shirt and most of his weight resting on Ray's lap, Walt was off balance, helpless, stretched out between them. Brad stalled, trying to get some control, but it was getting harder and harder to find.  
  
"I don't like being made to _wait_ ," Walt gritted out. "Sergeant Colbert, I want you to beat me with the buckle of that belt. I want you to make it _hurt_. _Please_."  
  
"Do it, Colbert," Ray added. "I wanna fucking see it."  
  
The buckle made a soft clinking noise as it landed against Walt's back. Brad concentrated on that, tried to ignore Walt's bitten-off cries, because what he was doing had brought him _that close_ to coming in his fucking pants that he needed the distraction. Walt was bucking underneath him, his skin was almost broken in a couple of places, not quite, but _almost_ , and Brad had had no idea that it would get this far or be this fucking hot.  
  
He needed more. Now.  
  
"Walt, get Ray's dick out," he ordered. "Get him off with your mouth."  
  
Walt obeyed with shaking hands, his eyelashes spiky with unshed tears, and Brad leaned forward over him again, letting the buttons of his shirt scrape deliberately over the welts. "That’s it. Show me how good you are at this, Marine.”  
  
Walt opened his mouth wide for Ray, swallowing him down, spreading spit and precome around, getting messy. Brad watched for a second, but had to look away, the intimacy of it startling him. He didn’t know if he was invited to _this_ , this purely personal, sexual act. But then Ray was reaching for him, touching the back of his head, and their eyes met. There was an understanding there, and Brad knew it was okay. He _knew_.  
  
So instead of the minor freak-out he'd been contemplating, he ducked his head and bit the back of Walt's neck.  
  
Ray must have felt Walt's moan right through his cock, because his hips stuttered forward, pumping into Walt's mouth. Brad let go with a kiss, moved down half an inch and bit again, harder, holding on. He touched Walt's lips, felt them stretched and wet around Ray's cock, rubbed his fingers down over his chin and throat, lower, pinched his nipple, still with his teeth holding Walt still.  
  
"Make him come with my cock down his throat," Ray rasped. He was still touching Brad's head, petting at him urgently. "Colbert, make him lose it..."  
  
Brad moved another half an inch down, bit again right at the top of Walt's spine, and pressed his hand to the front of Walt's pants. Walt started moving into it, relieved to finally have something to ease the pressure. "Come in your pants, Walt," Brad whispered, right against Walt's skin. "Come for us. Be a good boy and fucking come."  
  
Walt's face was red, wet with sweat and spit and tears, and he came pumping himself against Brad's hand, sucking desperately at Ray. Brad sank his teeth in one more time, dizzy with how powerful he felt, how turned on, and Walt groaned, long and dirty, as he gave it up for them.  
  
"Walt, Walt-" Ray was fucking his face, now, close to following him over the edge. Brad sat back on his heels and just watched. Ray was bent almost double, scratching his nails up Walt's back, cupping his hand around Walt’s neck, and then he was _done_ , holding Walt on his dick as he came down his throat. It was the most obscene thing Brad had ever seen, and he felt like he was going to _die_ if he didn't get some of it for himself.  
  
Ray collapsed back on his hands, eyes closed, as Walt gently lapped at him, cleaning him off. He met Brad's eyes again, and Brad felt terribly exposed, open, as Ray took him in.  
  
"You need to come, Colbert?"  
  
"The fuck do you think?" Brad asked. He popped the button on his pants, resigned to just jerking off in front of them, if that’s what it took, but Ray shook his head.  
  
“Sit back up on the couch. Walt, turn around.”  
  
They did as they were told, Brad almost grateful to let the balance of power shift over to Ray. He spread his legs wide, wide enough for Walt to kneel in between them, and waited. He was tense all over, wound up, didn’t know what to do with his hands until Ray told him. “Don’t get all shy on us now, Colbert. You can – on his face.”  
  
Oh, _fuck_.  
  
“Can I?” he asked Walt, who was looking up at him, still licking Ray off his lips. Walt nodded.  
  
“You’d better.”  
  
It took Brad about three seconds before he was doing as ordered, pleasure slamming through his body as he spilled all over Walt’s upturned face, his mouth, his cheek. Ray was talking him through it, moaning about how filthy it was, how much Walt loved it, how hot it was to see Walt take it like that from someone else. And Walt just kept looking at him, eyes so blue as he sucked Brad’s come off his lower lip.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, and Brad just about passed out.  
  
Instead, he slumped back on the couch with his eyes closed, panting like he’d just run a marathon, listening vaguely to the sound of Ray and Walt shifting around, kissing each other, cleaning each other up.  
  
“Walt, you uh…you have a little something on your face.”  
  
“You’re such a fucking asshole. Gimme your damn tee-shirt.”  
  
“Have it, homes, I stole it from you anyway.”  
  
Banter, the exact same as always. They were the exact same. Brad let it wash over him as his breathing slowed, calmed down. He felt like he could lie there forever, was just about to propose the idea to the universe in general, when a shot glass was pressed against his lips.  
  
He opened his eyes. Ray, sans shirt, was hovering over him. “I didn’t have any smelling salts,” he explained.  
  
Brad took the shot, relished the burn as it slid down his throat. “Tequila’ll do just fine,” he said. “More?”  
  
“I like where you’re going with this.”  
  
Walt yawned and stood up. “ _I’m_ going to bed. You guys have fucking wrecked me.” He stretched, and smiled, shaking his head. “If you two get drunk, try not to pass out on the floor like a pair of idiots.”  
  
“Yes, ma,” Ray said, rolling his eyes. He shot Brad a grin, like, _this guy_. Brad’s heart beat a little faster.  
  
And then a lot faster as Walt turned to them before leaving the room. “And if you’re gonna fuck, give me a few hours of sleep at least. Or fucking film it.”  
  
Brad and Ray stared at each other as the bedroom door closed.  
  
“You wanna get really, really drunk?” Ray asked.  
  
Brad nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I really do.”  
  
Ray paused, spinning the bottle around and around in his hands. “You wanna – you wanna do this, like _, all the time_?”  
  
Brad felt a flush of…something. Something warm, like the bloom of tequila, expanding in his chest. He nodded again.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”


End file.
